


Rock the Cradle

by BoxWineConfessions



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Sex, Daddy Kink, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Older Yuri gives Otabek younger Yuri as a bday gift, Otabek is forty, Rimming, Spanking, Yuri is fifteen, witch Georgi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 16:06:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12485496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoxWineConfessions/pseuds/BoxWineConfessions
Summary: “You are going to love your birthday present Otabek.” Yuri purrs into his ear. “You’re going to forget you’re turning forty.” On the eve of Otabek's 40th birthday, Yuri gives Otabek a younger version of himself.





	Rock the Cradle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dizzyt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzyt/gifts).



> Happy bday @kepitto <3

“You are going to love your birthday present Otabek.” Yuri purrs into his ear. “You’re going to forget you’re turning forty.” 

“This isn’t my birthday present?” Otabek asks toying with the hem of Yuri’s shirt. He’s wearing his typical pajama set of one of Otabek’s many oversized shirts paired with a tight pair of briefs. Tonight, Yuri has his reading glasses on. They’re the plastic framed kind purchased at the drugstore; they’re the kind that are frequently left on train cars, lost in checked luggage, and buried in junk drawers. They certainly weren’t meant to press against the bridge of Yuri’s nose for years and years while he pretended he could use them to read the too small text on his phone.  Yuri insists that he doesn’t need to go back to the optometrist, but most nights Yuri ends up squinting at the screen and complaining that his head hurts. 

“No way,” Yuri removes the black rimmed glasses, and sets them onto the nightstand. “You get to unwrap this every night.” Then, he reaches over Otabek’s body, and fiddles with the dial on an alarm clock on the night stand. It must be new, because Otabek hasn’t seen it before. The clock looks to be of the older style, with twin silver bells at the top and a mechanical mallet that bounces from side to side. The face is inlaid with crystals that look blue, or purple, or green depending on the angle. 

“Did you get that at Georgi’s?” Otabek saw the wrinkled receipt in the console of Yuri’s car earlier. He doesn’t particularly like it when Yuri brings home artifacts from Georgi’s Emporium. It always seems to end in trouble. Last time Yuri came home with a cat amulet. The event ended with Otabek being pounced on by a very happy, very needy kitten Yuri. His kitty ears and tail were cute. Yuri went into heat, and the frantic, animalistic sex that they had was amazing, but with any of Georgi’s artifacts there was a catch. Yuri’s cock became barbed, and it scratched against his hands, and wasn’t particularly enjoyable in his mouth. So, if this artifact is from Georgi’s he’s curious, but cautious. 

“Maybe,” Yuri says. Yuri turns, then straddles Otabek  in an attempt to distract him from the question he posed. 

Otabek can see the outline of Yuri’s cock in his briefs. He runs the pad of his index finger over Yuri’s bulge, and feels him twitch underneath the briefest of touches. Needless to say the distraction works. In no time at all, Otabek’s hands are hooked into the waistband of Yuri’s underwear, and he’s sliding his hands across the sinfully soft skin of Yuri’s ass. 

“I love you Beka.” Their lips touch briefly, part, and then reconnect. The kiss is deepened slowly, gradually, until it is Yuri that is moaning with need. Otabek can assume with some certainty that this is not what his lover had intended. “Happy birthday,” Yuri whispers into his ear. 

* * *

Otabek wakes to the sound of metal clanging against metal. He reaches over Yuri’s body to slam the alarm clock off. When the noise ceases, his eyes slip open ever so slightly. Something is wrong. The metal between his fingers is chrome pink. The face of his clock isn’t laden with exotic antique jewels, but instead an illustration of a rainbow colored leopard. These little details make it apparent that he’s not in the same bed he fell asleep in last night. 

Otabek feels a familiar warm bundle of warmth against him. The tornado of wrapped blankets indicate that it’s Yuri that he’s next to, and that alone takes the anxious edge off of the situation.  Otabek parts the sea of tiger print and pastel pink blankets and sheets to reveal  _ a  _ Yuri. A Yuri, but not the Yuri he wakes up to every morning.

This Yuri’s hair is shorter, falling just above his shoulders. His body has yet to change, and the first time in a long time Otabek is taller than Yuri again. Although the difference in their height has never been substantial, seeing Yuri like this makes him swell with a certain kind of protective pride. This is the Yuri that needed him to rescue him in an alleyway in Barcelona. This is the Yuri that needed him to fend off cat callers in the club. He had to slip hundreds to bouncers at clubs across the globe to get  _ this _ Yuri inside. This is the Yuri that he spent hours helping with his math homework over Skype. This Yuri needs him in a way that his current Yuri does not. 

This Yuri’s skin is smooth like porcelain all over to the point that it looks scrubbed pink in the morning light. The fine worry line across his forehead is absent too. He must be fifteen, no more than sixteen. Otabek cannot take his eyes off of him. He’s dressed in a shirt that  _ has _ to be his. Where else is Yuri getting teal and gold faded t-shirts that say “ _ Astana Est 1997”  _ across the chest? Otabek’s eyes drift lower, and he can see that Yuri is barely contained by a soft gray pair of Calvin Klein underwear. It cups the curve of his ass just right, and Otabek can see the half hard bulge of his cock press against the fabric in front. In this moment, Otabek realizes his partner’s sleep time uniform hasn’t changed in more than twenty years. 

Otabek was right. He loves his birthday present. For although he wouldn’t trade the world for a single morning with  _ his _ Yuri, the mornings that he got to wake up next to  _ this _ Yuri were far too few. Back then, did he even appreciate it? Or was he too busy worried about the next show, the next medal, the next flight?

But, it doesn’t make him forget that he is now forty. Instead, it only highlights this fact, and makes him crushingly aware of it. Judging by the medals in the case on the wall, silver, silver, and gold, Yuri hasn’t even taken gold in his first Worlds yet. This is right after Barcelona, whether it is days, or weeks, he is not certain. 

Yuri stirs in his sleep, stretching his limbs, and nearly punching him in the face in the process. Otabek is filled with momentary panic. He’s used to being subjected to reckless, dangerous magic. Maybe this Yuri is not. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Yuri’s mouth curls into an acerbic smile. It’s strange. He fell in love with this exact smile. His older Yuri has refined it. He changes it bit by bit to suit the occasion. The smile is lopsided when he’s feeling romantic. The smile is forced when he’s legitimately angry. Now, this younger Yuri just smiles at him, and rolls his eyes. The effect on him is immediate. “I bought a fucking spell from that hag so I could talk to my dad. Like a fucking séance or ghost appearance or some dumb shit.” Yuri sits up on his knees and keeps talking, “guess I got a daddy instead.” 

Otabek’s eyes go wide, and he can all but feel the color drain from his face. Nevertheless, Yuri’s words make his cock twitch.  

Yuri snorts. “Of fucking course you’d be the kind of old man who’d get a boner over that kind of thing. You’re so predictable Beka. Even though I don’t know you like this, I know you like this.” 

“Is that so?” Otabek feels emboldened by Yuri’s reaction. He sits up against the headboard, and pulls Yuri into his lap. Yuri immediately crawls over his lap, and in near perfect parallel with the way things started with his Yuri last night, he rests his hands over the firm flesh of this Yuri’s ass and squeezes lightly. 

“Yeah,” Yuri leans into him, and slots his mouth over his. He tastes like morning breath, and he smells like the fruity and overpowered deodorant that comes with a hot pink cap. It only feels like yesterday when that same scent clung to all of his clothes. Yuri’s kisses are still awkward and inexperienced. There’s too much tongue, and he gnaws on his lower lip as if that is the epitome of eroticism. It’s cute. 

Otabek threads his fingers through his hair, and pulls on it slightly. This tilts Yuri’s mouth open wider, and he regains control of the kiss first by pressing his tongue softly against Yuri’s, and then pressing inside deeper. This earns him the most delicious moan from Yuri, and so he has to repeat the process once more, pulling back and driving forward over and over again until Yuri is impossibly hard from just kissing.  

“You’re really fucking hot when you’re old,” Yuri says when they part. “I mean you’re hot now, but fuck.” 

Otabek is in complete agreement, how he feels about this Yuri is clear. He is also aching hard already from barely touching the boy. “I like you best at every age but-“ 

“Fuckin stop,” Yuri mashes his mouth to his once more. “I don’t have to see future me to know I’m hotter now.” 

“Fine then,” Otabek peppers kisses down his face, from his slack jaw line, to his chin, and down his neck. Here, Yuri is already marked up. It was always his favorite thing to do when they couldn’t see each other for a long time. He’d always make sure to leave lots of marks and make sure that Yuri could see him on his body long after they parted ways. 

They must have seen one another at four continents very recently. Otabek grazes his teeth across the marks, and then he applies pressure where the marks are already starting to fade into a sallow pink yellow shade.  Then, he presses his mouth to Yuri’s once again to swallow up the sound that he makes. “You do things to me now Yura. You make me want to do things to you.” 

“That’s right,” Yuri rolls his hips against Otabek’s crotch. “How old are you?” 

“Today? Forty.” Otabek hooks his fingers into the waistband of Yuri’s underwear, and yanks him down his hips. 

“Holy fuck,” Yuri breathes. “You’re so fucking hot.” Yuri slides out of his shirt as he speaks. “For being an old man. Seriously.” Otabek watches Yuri scrutinize him for a moment. No doubt his eyes have settled over his rapidly graying hair. “Happy birthday old man.” 

“You’re quite a gift Yura,” he says with a slight chuckle. Then, he flips their positions over, so that he’s on top of Yuri. He pins Yuri against the mattress by propping himself up on one elbow. Then, he worries a fresh mark on Yuri’s neck above the ones that the younger version of himself put on Yuri’s skin. “He-I won’t mind?” It’s increasingly hard to care, but he doesn’t want to end up back in his timeline, not with Yuri  _ because _ in the past Yuri cheated on Otabek…With Otabek. 

“Please,” Yuri snorts and rolls his hips against him again. “Before 4C I sent him a good luck charm. Turns out the charm generated multiple versions of me from several universes to suck his cock until he wasn’t nervous anymore. I’m fuckin owed one.” 

“Oh, that’s when I won gold.”

“No fucking shit,” Yuri snorts. 

Otabek doesn’t respond. With Yuri’s explicit permission, he becomes completely lost in the boy before him. He lavishes every inch of Yuri with kisses, licks, and bites. He watches the way that his skin reddens, how his teeth depress in, and how the supple skin springs back immediately. 

He takes a rose colored nipple into his mouth, and does his best to do his absolute worst. Teeth first, then soft licks of the tongue, then hard sucking and more teeth, over and over again until Yuri’s begging him, in a gruff voice that indicates Otabek can still knock him down a few pegs, “Beka please.” 

“Please what, baby?” 

“Stop being a fucking dick?” 

“Wrong answer.” So Otabek repeats the action on Yuri’s other nipple, but ups the ante. He pinches the other nipple, slicked with sweat and spit. Yuri jolts off the bed colliding with Otabek’s body. “Easy tiger,” Otabek laughs into his skin, but he doesn’t push Yuri back down. He cradles his body inches off of the mattress and holds him as close as he possibly can for fear that this Yuri was a sinful dream that would melt away. 

“Good to know you’re still a fucking asshole in the future.” 

“An asshole,” Otabek interrupts himself to kiss down Yuri’s sternum and his stomach. When he’s not tracing the lines of his muscles with his tongue, he’s watching Yuri squirm as he blows puffs of cool air against spit and sweat dampened skin. “That does this with you every night for twenty years.” Reluctantly, Otabek abandons Yuri’s body for a split second and tugs down his own sweatpants. “Think about that Yura.” 

Yuri’s eyes go wide watching his cock bob over the waistband. 

That’s right. At this point, they’ve…They’ve….Well, there were furtive hand jobs in Barcelona. He and Yuri sucked each other off for good luck at 4C and again at European nationals when they each came to visit the other, but it wasn’t until worlds that….

This Yuri is a virgin. This Yuri is a virgin, and if Otabek works him open slowly and  carefully, he might lose it to him. 

“Lemme show you something,” Yuri says. His voice is husky, and immediately the tables are turned. 

“Please show me Yura,” Otabek smirks at him. It worked on Yuri twenty years ago, and it works on him in the present, and so by extension it must work on this Yuri. 

Yuri licks his lips, and closes the scant space between them on the bed by crawling across the messed up duvet.  He settles between Otabek’s legs, and then he closes his mouth around the tip of Otabek’s cock. He laps at it playfully, experimentally, tasting it cautiously before taking more of him into his mouth. 

“That’s it.” Otabek doesn’t try to get him to take more of him into his mouth. He simply jerks himself lazily in time with the bob of Yuri’s mouth. “Good boy,” and he can feel Yuri smirk around his cock. “Have you swallowed yet?” 

Yuri locks eyes with him before rolling them, suggesting,  _ of course _ he swallows. 

“Do you touch yourself yet?” Otabek’s grip tightens around his own cock. He can’t remember exactly when Yuri called him on skype red faced and out of breath, “Beka, you’ll never guess where my fingers are…,” but he was able to guess  _ very _ quickly. 

“A little,” Yuri pulls off of his cock. 

“A little?” Otabek repeats, and then presses his cock back into Yuri’s mouth. This time, he presses Yuri to his limit, and thrusts into his mouth deeper and deeper until he can feel Yuri’s throat constrict around his cock. Yuri pulls off with a gag. 

Otabek moves them about the bed again.  He supposes that he should return the favor in kind instead of testing Yuri to the limit. “You know what makes it easy?” 

“What?” Yuri’s breath is pitchy, uneven, and as he talks Otabek takes his cock into his hand and jerks him slowly. He squeezes him at the tip, and Yuri makes the very best noise locked somewhere between frustration and ecstasy. But his upper hand over Yuri is short lived, because Yuri is Yuri, no matter what age or universe. It’s in every cell and every breath; he knows just how to shake him to his core, “daddy?” 

Now it’s Otabek who is holding himself tight at the base and desperately trying to wrestle control back. Otabek flips Yuri onto his stomach, and swats his round ass once, twice, three times. Yuri mewls and arches into his touch with each and every swat. “Good to see you’re just as much of a brat as I remember.” 

“You like it daddy.” 

Otabek swats Yuri a few more times across each cheek watching them redden with each pass. “Yeah,” it's useless to lie to him. “Pay attention,” Otabek commands. He waits for Yuri to go completely silent, and then he spreads Yuri’s cheeks wide and spits audibly onto Yuri’s hole. He watches the liquid slide across Yuri’s hole and drip down his crack for a moment before pushing his tongue against his hole. He offers no warning or preamble for Yuri, who squeals and bucks against him. He licks a long stripe across his hole to the soft flesh of his sac, and then does it all over again. 

“This makes it easier. Have him do his for you.” Then, Otabek goes back to what he’s perfected for Yuri over the years. Pushing in with his tongue, and pulling back to bite Yuri’s ass cheeks until they’re bruised purple pink just like his neck. He does this over and over again until Yuri is an absolute mess. Where it takes his Yuri minutes to become a boneless mass of pleasure, it takes this Yuri seconds. 

In no time at all, Yuri is humping against the bedspread, and begging, “Beka, Beka please,” and he supposes that kind of thing worked on him in the past, but he’s a bit more desensitized now. He knows how to give Yuri not what he needs, but what he wants. 

So Otabek pulls back and forces Yuri’s hips away from the bed breaking all contact Yuri has with possible release. “Not yet.” 

“Beka,” he whines. 

“No.” 

“I’ll get hard for you again right way,” Yuri writhes about, offering his ass to him. 

“No.” 

“Daddy-“

Otabek delivers another smack across his ass. “Behave.” Otabek holds Yuri tight until he stops moving, stops thrashing. “Do you have any-“ 

“Yeah,” Yuri huffs. He leans over the bed, and digs underneath. Otabek watches with horror and intimate familiarity as Yuri extracts several empty soda bottles, a few wadded up shirts, and a hair brush before finally extracting the lube. “Here,” then he thrusts it into his hand. 

Otabek considers for a moment making Yuri finger himself open, because it would make such a beautiful picture. Yuri sweating and red faced as he struggled to get a second finger inside of himself. Yuri straining, twitching, and cursing while Otabek stroked himself lazily. However, the alternative wins out. Because he’d much rather feel Yuri’s walls clench around his own fingers. Otabek coats his fingers with the viscous liquid, and presses at his hole. The first finger goes in easily. 

“When did you do this last?” 

“Last night. On Skype,” Yuri responds looking over his shoulder. “With you,” he adds as an afterthought. 

“Good,” Otabek sinks in another finger. It’s much tighter, and he has to go slower. 

Yuri hisses at him under his breath in a stifled, “fu-uck.” 

In compensation for the slight discomfort, Otabek doesn’t stop teasing Yuri with his mouth. He nips at the cleft of his ass, and he traces his stretched out rim, and he kisses the dimples on his back. 

“Three old man?” Yuri asks over his shoulder long after Otabek has become lost in the rhythm of scissoring his fingers in and out of Yuri. 

Otabek works a third in slowly. Now, Yuri’s body resists even moreso.  He can only hope that Yuri can relax around his fingers, so that he can take his cock with minimal discomfort. Otabek cannot remember the last time his cock felt this hot, this heavy between his legs. He doesn’t just want Yuri. He always wants Yuri. Now, he needs him. 

“Fuck,” Yuri swears

“Relax Yura,” Otabek traces a circular pattern on his thigh with his free hand. He laps at the stray beads of sweat that roll down the small of Yuri’s back. “Relax.”

“Keep talking.” Yuri giggles. “Your voice sounds like gravel, and whiskey, and all those things Otabek thinks he sounds like now when he’s trying to be a bad ass.” 

“You are absolutely beautiful Yuri,” Otabek leans over his body and whispers to him. “You are everything I’ve ever wanted.” He kisses between his shoulder blades. “Anything I’ll ever want,” and as he talks he curls and uncurls his fingers, brushing near, but never quite reaching Yuri’s prostate. He can tell by the way that Yuri pushes back against him, and the way that his eyes flutter shut, and the way that he sighs in frustration. “But most of all you’re mine. Don’t ever forget that.” 

“You’re such a fucking sa-ah” Yuri interrupts himself with a gasp, “sap!” 

“Hush.” Otabek strokes Yuri’s walls, pulls back, and then plunges in again, over and over until Yuri stops demanding, “fuck me you old crow,” and starts babbling, begging, in earnest this time and not in playful sarcasm.

“I’m so fucking close Beka. Please.” 

“Not yet,” he insists. “I want this to be special for you.” 

“Like magical time travel isn’t special en-“ 

So, Otabek gives him what he wants. He turns Yuri over onto his back so he can look into his deep green eyes. He gets lost in them as he thrusts in. They’re his only anchor to reality, the only thing that reminds him to go slowly instead of losing control. Yuri screws his eyes shut. Otabek kisses the small tears away, hoping that soon enough the burn will melt into a low pleasurable smoulder. “Are you alright Yura?” 

“Never better Beka,” and to punctuate the statement he pushes back against him. 

“Not yet,” Otabek holds his hips, this time so hard that he’s certain they will bruise. For a moment, Yuri struggles against him. Then, all at once, the tension in his body disappears completely. Yuri accepts him entirely. 

“Oh my fucking god, your dick is inside of me, stop it with this stupid power play bullshit,” and Yuri thrashes against him more. All it makes Otabek does is reposition where his hands are. One firm hand on his hip, the other on Yuri’s shoulder. He fucks into him slowly, and makes him feel every inch of him. 

“You love it Yuri,” Otabek begins to roll his hips faster now, give Yuri just a bit more of what he wants. “I know you love it Yuri.” 

“Bullshit!” 

“Why would I do it if you didn’t love it?” Otabek thrusts into Yuri even harder now. It’s easy to get lost into his softness, and his impossible tightness. Yuri is like a vice, and with every movement he clenches down upon him and quivers, determined to lead to his undoing as quickly as possible. 

“Shut up!” Yuri demands in response. Yuri  _ still _ has difficulties being open with him. Of course it’s a little more than slightly unfair to treat him like this now. 

“Who do you love Yuri?” Otabek loosens his own vice tight grip on the base of Yuri’s cock, and starts to jerk him off. Yuri bucks wildly up into his hand, and it’s difficult to develop, let alone maintain a rhythm. Yuri is wild and untamed for him and only for him. He’s the luckiest man in the world. 

“You,” Yuri sobs. “You daddy.”  

“That’s right.” Otabek rocks his hips in another slow delicious circle that allows both of them to feel all of each other. 

“Do you love me?” Yuri asks in the most delicious broken whimper.

“Of course Yuri,” and to answer him with his body, Otabek twists his hand around the head of Yuri’s cock. He pounds into him deep, and in seconds, Yuri is spilling into his hand. 

Otabek pulls out, and spills onto Yuri’s stomach. He scoops up each last drop of cum onto his finger tips, and feeds it to a greedy, but completely fucked out Yuri. “Good boy,” he says with a smile. 

* * *

Otabek wakes up to the scent of breakfast: bacon, coffee, fresh baked bread. Except there’s one slight problem. He has no idea where he is. The duvet is thick and soft, the sheets are of a high thread count. There are no less than four cats in the large bed with him. 

Yuri walks into the room, but it is not Yuri as he knows him. He’s taller, his hair is longer. His face doesn’t look so pinched or angry. There’s a very clear worry line imprinted into his forehead. Even though he’s older, Otabek is smitten. His long hair looks like gold, and his legs go on for miles. Yuri isn’t wearing much of anything at all, save a pale pink lace nightie. 

“Happy Birthday Beka,” Yuri’s voice sounds deep and husky. “How old today?” 

“Nine-nineteen,” he stammers. 

Yuri arches a single gold eyebrow at him. “Well, Happy Birthday Beka. Wanna unwrap your gift?” 


End file.
